


Purple Reign

by PatienceScalpel



Series: Purple Reign [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: BDSM, Dessert, F/F, Purple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatienceScalpel/pseuds/PatienceScalpel
Summary: A courier is leaving as you enter. He is drenched in nervous sweat and tears stream down his face. He doesn’t hold the door for you, so you buzz. A woman’s voice answers. “You’re late.”





	Purple Reign

As usual, the agency call before you shower, which means you won’t have time to. This job is at Kineros Robotics, far enough away that you’d already be late even if you were dressed. You throw on your cleanest outfit and shoes. You’ll do what you can with your hair on the way. 

A courier is leaving as you enter. He is drenched in nervous sweat and tears stream down his face. He doesn’t hold the door for you, so you buzz. A woman’s voice answers. “You’re late.” 

She is dressed head to toe in lilac, the flawless monotone broken only by a black belt with a gold clasp, violet fingerless gloves and matching stilettos. Everything about her is immaculate. The severity of her red hair and cheekbones is offset by the delicate wire frames of her cateye spectacles. She holds an elegant cane in her right hand, and leans on it as she stands to address you. 

“I am Wilhelmina Venerable. You will call me Ms Venable. You shouldn’t find the work hard, but I expect you to do it well. You are not to take pictures of anything here and it goes without saying there will be no social media.”

She looks you up and down. 

“You’re young. That gives me pause”.  
“But we need you until we find a replacement for the last...” She pauses. “Girl”. 

The work is dull but your duties are not difficult. You mainly process invoices, purchase orders, packages for delivery and pick up the occasional parcel. You are careful not to make a mistake and you never leave early. 

Except for sharp thump of her cane and the occasional Carpenters song that wafts out of one of the labs, the office is silent. It is not a benign silence. The slightest noise sends a cascade of echoes. You take care not to drop anything or even rustle papers if you can help it. 

You complete most of your tasks in a medium-size room to the side of reception, which means you can see her through one of the circular windows in the wall. 

You look at her whenever you can, which is not easy, because nothing evades her attention. When you leave for the day you always ask her if there’s anything else she needs. Usually she says “That’s all for today. You can go.” Sometimes she doesn’t even look up and just shakes her head. 

Your work hours are for the most part uneventful. A thrilling exception unfolds when a man turns up asking to see Mutt and Jeff, the two bowl cuts who you have learned are the founders of Kineros. She tells him he has no appointment, and therefore no business with them. He holds out a piece of paper. “This is a patent I’ve filed for a type of bio-feedback circuitry I developed. I believe this company obtained my work unethically and is now using it in development. I demand to speak the directors.”

“May I see it?” She stands and takes it from him with a gloved hand. She lifts it to eye level and then tears it down the centre. She slides both pieces across her desk towards him. 

“Now you have two of them. Now get the fuck out of here before the same thing happens to you”. 

As he hurries away with his head lowered, you see her face illuminated by a cruel joy. 

You start to take extra care with your appearance. Every night you make sure your clothes for the next day are pressed crisp. You aim for immaculate and you never ever wear purple. 

You wonder how to get her attention. Evisceration is the only reward for small talk, so it will have to be something else. 

Seeing the new bakery on your way home gives you an idea.

The next day you leave your place early so you can go there on the way to work. You buy three perfect miniature purple macaroons. 

You leave them on her desk when she’s in the lab talking to Mutt and Jeff. You place the box neatly to the side of her laptop and make sure you’re at your desk by the time you hear the click of the security door. You don’t know what she does with them because you don’t dare turn your head to look at her when she returns. 

When you leave for the day you notice they are no longer on her desk. She does not mention them and you cannot tell if she is pleased or displeased. 

The week after you leave lavender petit fours embossed with a fleur de lys. She does not acknowledge them. You cannot be sure but for the rest of the week you sense an extra attentiveness about her, not unlike that of a predator tracking the movements of some small creature. 

The next week you bring her incandescently violet bonbons. She does not mention them, although later that day she comes over to your desk and leans right down, her face beside yours. You have never been this close to her. You can see the row of pierced holes above her tear drop earring. She smells sublime; sweet but with dark notes beneath, like a nightshade or a plant that strangles. She gives you a routine instruction and then turns and leaves. 

You hear about a chocolatier on the other side of the city that sells candied violets. You go there on a Sunday. They are gorgeous. You buy a small, round box of them as well as a sample for yourself. You always order enough to try yourself; the idea of giving her something ordinary is unthinkable. They taste exquisite. 

She gives no acknowledgement this time, either, but the next day you notice she is using a different cane. The width and length are the same, but the wood is a deeper red and the handle is heavy and made of stone. The stone is violet and dark slate and is all of one piece, including the orb that sits on the top. You think it’s granite, like the sphere she keeps on her desk. The surface is polished and perfectly smooth. She runs her fingers over it when she speaks to you, lightly stroking the length of the shaft and caressing the orb with her thumb. An absent minded gesture perhaps, but you can’t be certain. 

The next week you find a place that sells a thousand layer cake with an ultraviolet glaze. This one you need to buy fresh. You wake up before dawn to get there, and are first in line. It is even more lovely than you imagined. Apart from the flat base, it is perfectly round, and the ultraviolet is marbled with heliotrope, like an impossible planet and not unlike the hilt of her new cane. The cake is so delicate it is almost ethereal. 

You drive most of the way with only one hand on the steering wheel, holding it so flat that the box does not change angle by even millimeter. Your arm aches from holding it perfectly still.

You place it softly next to her laptop when she’s out of the room. 

In the afternoon she says, “Stay back tonight.” It is not a question. 

It is a Thursday. Mutt and Jeff are never there late on Thursday. You don’t know why. 

So you stay processing orders, sending invoices, filing and packaging. None of these particular tasks seem either pressing or urgent, but you don’t even contemplate leaving until she dismisses you. 

The floor is empty. The last time you heard a security door or lift was over an hour ago. You doubt there’s anyone left in the building. 

She calls your name. You walk to her desk. 

She holds your gaze until you lower your eyes. 

“Do you know what I want from you?” 

You shake your head and look up. 

“Nothing.”

She stands and takes two steps toward you. 

“And do you know what you will give to me?” 

You wait for her answer. 

“Everything.”

She takes another step. You are almost touching. 

Her mouth is slightly open. You can see the perfect line of her matt lipstick and the soft wet sheen on her tongue. You are shaking but lean forward to close the gap between you. Before your lips meet she reaches up and seizes your jaw. She places her thumb over your bottom lip and looks into your eyes. You freeze, held completely immobile by her steady, cold gaze. 

The slap makes your vision burn white. A wet iron taste fills your mouth. You touch your stinging lip and look at your hand. There’s blood on your fingers. 

She looks at your hand too and you see a glimmer of pleasure in her eyes. 

“What do you say?” 

You say nothing, your ears still ringing. 

A backhand this time. 

“Do not make me ask you again.”

“Thank you.” 

Another blow. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable.” You barely get the words out. 

She takes a step back from you and rests her cane against the side of her desk. Then she unclips the gold clasp on her belt and removes it from her waist. Once she has taken it off, she holds it in front of her and carefully reclips the clasp. She pushes the gold buckle from the back all the way along the doubled length until it sits flush against the clasp. She takes this end in her right hand. 

She looks at you and then at her desk. 

“What did I say about making me ask you again?” 

She gestures to the edge of the desk with her belt.  
“Bend over it and bare yourself.”

You lower your trousers to knee height and tentatively lean over the cold glass surface. 

“More than that.” You push them down to your ankles. The air conditioning is freezing on your exposed skin. 

“What did I say about making me ask you again?” 

“I’m sorry, Ms Venable” 

“You will be.” 

Her first strike shocks you so much that you don’t feel the pain for another four. When the pain comes it hits like lightening, sharp when it lands and then spreads to the surrounding flesh. Her strikes are precise and her accuracy is perfect. She lands the top of each blow to slightly overlap the bottom of the last strike. Then, when she reaches the top of your thighs, she moves back up. She replicates this pattern perfectly on the other side. There is no sound except your ragged breathing and the crack of her belt against your skin. She gave you no number and she doesn’t count, so you don’t know how many are to come. Neither her force or nor her rhythm wavers in the slightest and you realise that she could probably go on like this all night. 

Your flesh becomes incandescently hot, and the heat and the pain swirl together. You don’t dare cry out but tears are streaming down your face. 

She stops just as suddenly as she began and waits.  
“Thankyoumsvenable” You pray she understood the words you choked out. 

You feel the wood of her cane on the inside of your knee, first left and then right as she uses it to push your legs further apart. You know she will be able to see how wet you are. 

She unceremoniously glides the edge of the doubled over end of her belt along your aching cunt. You let out a moan. She removes it abruptly and slams it onto the table, millimeters from your face. 

“I can’t wear it in this state.” 

“I’m sorry, Ms Venable.”

“Sorry isn’t going to clean my belt.” 

She shoves it into your teeth. You quickly and thoroughly lick it clean. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable.”

You hear the sounds of her putting it back on and reconnecting the clasp. Then all you hear is silence, and then, finally, the thump of her cane. 

She’s standing behind you again. 

You gasp as the stone handle enters you. It is icy cold. 

She penetrates you slowly but there is nothing gentle about the movement. It’s wide enough to hurt as it stretches you. 

When it is fully inside you she rotates it, her pressure firm. You draw your breath. 

She pauses her motion and uses her other hand to draws her fingernails over your brutalised flesh. It is excruciating. You sense she is is waiting for something. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable”

She grabs your hair and pulls back hard enough that you are forced to arch your spine. She holds you in this position while she slowly and smoothly pulls her cane towards her so that only the tip of the handle remains inside you. She holds it there. 

You don’t dare move or make a sound. 

You are shaking. 

She’s still completely motionless. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable” 

She pushes it into you again, the pressure is meticulously consistent but the movement is painfully slow. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable” 

She pulls it back halfway and thrusts in slightly harder and her other hand pushes your face flat against the desk. This angle means you have to adjust your weight and now the edge of the desk is pressing against your clit. She drives into you again and again. Your breath come in gasps. You can’t turn your head to see her, but you still strain to focus on the purple shadow at the edge of your vision. 

She thrusts the hilt of her cane deep inside you over and over again. 

The stone is no longer cold but it is unyielding and you feel every inch of it. 

The edge of the table pressing against you and her smooth, hard thrusts are too much. Your muscles clench around the orb and she turns it and drives it deeper as she sees you start to shudder. You come, shaking and moaning. 

“Thank you, Ms Venable” 

“Oh I’m not done with you.” 

She doesn’t even slow her pace. She drives her cane into you, angling it at the end of her stroke so that the top hits you where you are most sensitive. Her rhythm is unrelenting and she thrusts into you until you come again, screaming this time.

Your legs are shaking so much you have to lean your whole weight onto the desk. You are hyperventilating and breathless at the same time. You can barely see and your whole body is trembling and she still gives no indication of slowing or stopping. 

You don’t know how long this goes on for because everything blurs into the agony of her unforgiving thrusts as pleasure and pain and time and space become all the same thing. 

When your screams finally give way to sobs and you’re begging her to stop, she yanks you by your hair so that you are forced to turn around. Your raw flesh stings against the edge of the table but you barely notice once you see her.

As she continues to force the hilt of her cane into you, she reaches out with her other hand and puts it around your throat. A dark pleasure illuminates her face as she takes in your helplessness. You have no idea how long this lasts or even if you make a sound. All you know is that you see cruel delight in her eyes and then nothing but purple before your vision goes black.

When you come to, you’re lying on the floor next to her desk. She is gone but there is a glass of water near your head. Your legs won’t hold you so you lie on the cold floor until you can stand. When you do you see the note. It reads: 

“Your daily services are no longer required here.  
Your evening duties begin tomorrow. Do not be late.  
Bring dessert.”

**Author's Note:**

> For H.  
> Thank you to Lorraine for the cake upgrade.


End file.
